


don't want anything but all of you

by cynical_optimist



Series: something more than everything [1]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Soft Kids, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 17:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical_optimist/pseuds/cynical_optimist
Summary: “You’re Mikael,” he says. “That’s all. You’re Mikael. You’re my best friend.”“You’re mine, too,” Mikael says, then, “Thank you.”“Of course,” Adam says, and, before he can stop himself, he pulls Mikael’s right hand to his face and turns it, pressing his mouth into the lines of his palm. Mikael doesn’t pull away, and Adam lets his lips linger, meets his eyes. “You’re you,” he says into his skin. “You’re you.”-Five times Adam kissed Mikael and one time it was the other way around; or, Adam and Mikael have had each others' backs since they were kids, and there's nothing in the world that can change that fact.





	don't want anything but all of you

**Author's Note:**

> This is also posted on tumblr, because an anon asked me to write something and I have no chill. Title is from [Hands Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3E6QfPUPoM) by The Greeting Committee, a song most graciously provided to me by [Sarah](https://sanashappinessisendgame.tumblr.com), who is, as always, the best beta anyone could ever ask for. Ily <3\. As a disclaimer I have no idea what art school is like and am in no way, shape, or form Norwegian.
> 
> I should also note that this deals with Even's attempt and some of the aftermath, though not explicitly.

_ one _

When Adam is five years old, he doesn't really have a best friend.

It's sort of sad, because his big sister has had a best friend since she was three, but he's okay with it. He hasn't really met anyone that he wants to be best friends with, anyway. They're either mean or boring, which his Mamma says is sort of rude to think, but it's true.

And then, when he's five and a half, he meets Mikael.

He arrives at the kindergarten with a bright blue Thomas the Tank Engine backpack, running away from his Mamma and Pappa with a wide grin. Adam is just putting his lunchbox in his nook, and the new boy bounds up to him, still smiling.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Mikael.”

“Adam,” he replies. “You want to play legos with me?”

“Sure!” Mikael answers, and the two of them head over to the building corner until the teacher calls for reading time.

Mikael is funny and cool and Adam likes playing with him, even if he is the smallest in their kindergarten. He's a whole month younger than Adam, though, so that's understandable.

Mikael makes up fun stories with the legos and shares his crayons and agrees with Adam about the mean kids, and sometimes they swap snacks. He's the perfect best friend in every way.

Except, Adam isn't sure he's Mikael's best friend.

Both of them have other friends, but none of Adam's are best friends, not like Mikael is. Sometimes, when Adam sees Mikael with his other friends, he wants to go over there and wrap his arms around him and shout "No! Mikael is my best friend!" That would definitely be rude, though, and mean.

That sort of behaviour is silly, his Mamma says, like not sharing toys but worse, because people aren't toys. Mikael definitely isn't a toy, so Adam feels guilty whenever he's jealous.

Mikael never notices, though, and he continues to share his lunch only with Adam, except when someone comes to class without any food. He smiles biggest when he's around Adam, too, mouth so wide Adam can see all of his teeth.

He's still not sure he's Mikael's best friend, though, until the day after his birthday, when he brings his brand new crayons to school. There's a hundred of them, all different colours, and he can't wait to see what he can draw in craft time.

He's halfway through a picture of the sunset when Noah, who broke ten whole crayons last week, runs up to his table.

"Cool crayons," he says, leaning over Adam’s picture. "Can I have a turn?"

Adam freezes. "Um," he replies. "These are my birthday present."

Noah nods. "Can I use them after you, then?"

Adam looks over at the table Noah was sitting at. There's a broken crayon right next to his paper. He shakes his head.

"But I asked nicely!" Noah protests. He reaches out for the box.

Mikael stands up from where he's sitting next to Adam, very carefully holding one of the kindergarten crayons. "Don't be a meanie!" he says. "That's not fair."

Noah frowns. "He wasn't sharing!"

“He doesn’t have to! My Mamma says you’re allowed to keep your birthday presents to yourself.”

“ _ My Mamma _ says sharing is caring!” Noah argues, crossing his arms.

“Well, you didn’t even say  _ please _ ,” Mikael replies.

“I still asked nicely. It’s not fair!” He stomps his foot, still frowning, and Adam’s heart beats as fast as it did when he snuck in on his parents watching a scary movie.

He holds his new crayons close to his chest. "They're mine, though," he says, and that's when the teacher makes her way to that side of the room and notices the fight.

"Thanks," Adam says quietly to Mikael, when Noah is ushered back to his seat with the insistence that he already has plenty of crayons at his table. "You're a good friend."

Mikael smiles, bright. "I'm the best-est friend," he says.

Adam nods, grins back. "The best-est-est friend."

"Your best-est-est friend," Mikael continues. "Like you're mine."

Adam's tummy swoops. "Yeah," he says. "We're best friends."

On impulse, he puts his crayon down and leans over the side of his chair, far enough to reach Mikael, and throws his arms around his neck. Mikael giggles, and Adam presses his lips to his cheek.

After a minute, he pulls away, turning back to his picture. He still has heaps to go, but he probably doesn’t need all the colours. He looks up again.

“Hey, Mikael,” he says. “Do you want to borrow some of my crayons?”

Mikael frowns. “They’re your birthday present, though.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “But you’re my best friend, so I don’t mind sharing with you.”

Mikael blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Okay. Thank you.” Carefully, he takes a green crayon out of the box.

“No problem,” he replies, and takes an orange one. For a moment, they smile at each other.

Adam loves having a best friend. Most of all, though, he loves that his best friend is  _ Mikael _ , because Mikael is  everything he could ever wish for in a person and more. He’s the best,  best friend that Adam could ever have imagined, even better than his sister’s best friend.

He’s the perfect person to share crayons with, basically, and Adam is suddenly happier than he’s ever been that he has MIkael here to do that.

 

  
_ two _

Adam would probably enjoy riding his bike more if Mikael was any good at it.

Well, that’s not really true. In some ways, he enjoys riding  _ even more _ because Mikael is so terrible. There’s something beautiful and fulfilling about shooting past his best friend, sneaking glances over his shoulder at him. Mikael, who didn’t learn with training wheels  when he was little, is still getting the hang of it, wobbling along like he might fall off at any moment. It’s hilarious, absolute comedy gold.

It’s also sort of terrifying.

Adam is eleven, okay, and Mikael is only ten, and there might only be a month’s difference between them but that doesn’t matter when he’s the eldest. He’s  _ responsible _ . He has to look after Mikael, make sure he doesn’t get hurt. He’s pretty sure both their Mammas would kill him. Elias at school would never let him hear the end of it if MIkael broke his arm or something.

None  of that, of  course, factors into the decision to race down a hill.

It's a bad idea. It's a terrible idea, in fact. It's probably the worst idea in the history of kids riding bikes.

“I bet you seventy kroner I can beat you down!” Mikael calls, grinning in challenge over to Adam, when he has finally managed to ride in a straight line for a good twenty minutes.

Adam looks down the hill. “I don’t know…” he starts, and Mikael laughs.

“You’re scared I’m gonna beat you,” he taunts.

Adam scowls. “Am not!”

“You’re  _ scared _ ,” MIkael says, drawing out the word teasingly.

“I’ll pay you a hundred kroner if you manage to beat me down!” Adam retorts. Mikael is  _ not _ going to beat him.

“You don’t have a hundred kroner.”

“Do so,” he replies, though it doesn’t matter, since he’s going to win. “Are you ready?”

“Ready, set, go!” Mikael calls, and Adam pushes off after him down the hill.

Despite the start, Adam pulls ahead of Mikael easily, and the air screams past his ears as he approaches the  bottom of the hill, attention totally focused on his goal. It’s easy, really;  it’s the easiest competition he’s ever had. He careens  to a stop at the bottom of the hill, stumbling off his bike.

“Ha!” he shouts, pulling off his helmet. “I did it, MIkael! You owe me seventy kroner!”

Adam blinks, looks around, looks back up the hill. His best friend is nowhere to be seen.  _ That’s not funny _ , he wants to say, but the words won’t come out. His heart skips.

“Mikael?” he calls, shaky. “Mikael, where are you?”

There’s no answer, and Adam starts to run up the hill. About halfway up, he spots Mikael’s bike, lying on its side, and its owner just a little beyond it. Mikael is clutching at his knee, tears streaming down his face, and Adam sprints over, skidding down next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, remember now why he had been so worried about Mikael riding. “Are you okay?”

Mikael’s knees are torn up and dripping with red, and his hands aren’t doing much better. He shakes his head, sniffling.

“I’m sorry,” Adam says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” Mikael says, and his voice is  shaky and heavy. “It’s not—I fell.”

“But I’m supposed to look after you,” Adam replies.

Mikael sniffles again, and takes a quivering breath. “It’s okay,” he repeats. “We don’t have to tell anyone.” He looks down at his knees, and his mouth twists. “Maybe— maybe Mamma?”

“Okay,” Adam says, and his throat  is tight and sore and he doesn’t know how long he can look at Mikael when he’s like this. “I’ll— should I carry you home?”

Mikael snaps his head up, glaring through his tears. “I’m not  _ that _ small!” he says. “I’m too heavy for you.”

That’s definitely not true, but  Adam only nods. “You can lean on me, then.”

Mikael nods back. “Okay.” He looks back at his knees, then his hands. “Can we— can we wait a bit?”

“Yeah,” Adam says. His bike is  at the bottom of the hill, but he can ask his Mamma to drive him to get it and Mikael’s bike later. “We can go soon.”

“Cool,” Mikael says, and wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, wincing.

“Does it hurt really bad?” Adam asks, and Mikael’s lip shakes, then he nods.

Adam doesn’t have any bandaids with him, or anything his Mamma uses to make him feel better. Mikael is still sniffling, some tears still running down his face no matter how much he wipes them away, and this is  _ all Adam’s fault _ . He needs to do something.

“Can I try kiss it better?” he asks, hesitant. It’s not something his Mamma does much anymore, but it did always work.

Mikael blinks. “But then you’ll get blood on you,” he says.

“I’ll kiss just above it?” he suggests.

Mikael nods, offers one of his knees, and Adam very carefully presses a kiss to the skin just above the torn area. He does the same to the other, then each of Mikael’s hands. He probably gets a little bit of blood or dirt or both on his lips, but Mikael is smiling again, almost, so it’s alright.

“Is that better?” he asks.

“A little bit,” Mikael answers. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

“Okay,” Adam says, and pushes to his feet. He helps Mikael up and lets him lean against his side, slings his arm around his shoulders. He’ll definitely come back later to get the bikes; he doesn’t know how he could get them and Mikael home at the same time. His best friend is definitely more important here.

“Thanks,” Mikael says after a few minutes, quiet  and sincere. “I’m sorry I ruined the race.”

“That’s all right,” Adam replies. “I won, anyway. You owe me seventy kroner.”

Mikael scowls. “Doesn’t count,” he argues. “I crashed.”

“I still beat you to the bottom,” Adam says, though he’s not actually going to hold Mikael to it. His Mamma would kill him, for one.

“You’re so mean to me,” Mikael complains, leaning more fully on Adam.

_ That might be true _ , Adam thinks, looking down at Mikael’s bloody knees. “Am not,” he says.

Mikael sighs. “Yeah,” he replies. “You’re not.” He presses a little closer, puts a little more weight on Adam’s shoulders.

It’s probably meant to annoy him, but Adam doesn’t care. He lets Mikael as close as he wants, as close as he needs, puts as much strength as he can into supporting him. It feels right, like it’s all he  wants to do in life. Not like being an astronaut or an artist or a musician— not like a career. It’s bigger than that, like he wants Mikael at his side forever.

The thought is comfortable, and Adam hides a grin in his shoulder. 

 

 

_ three _

By the time Adam is sixteen, he has an entire group of best friends and knows what he wants to do with his life. His parents are supportive of him, as are his friends, so whilst there are people who look down their noses at the idea of pursuing art as a career, he has the people that matter on his side.

“It's okay,” Mikael says, one day after Adam’s claim that he wants to study art is met by the assertion that he will end up starving. “When I become a famous filmmaker, I'll support you.”

“So I'll be living off charity,” Adam replies, voice flat, and Even turns from where he was talking with Elias, patting Adam on the shoulder.

“Living off charity is better than starving,” he points out.

Mutta snorts. “Mikael can be your sugar daddy,” he suggests.

“The point is,” Mikael says loudly, as the rest of the boys begin to cackle, “you're not going to starve. But it doesn't matter, because you're an awesome artist.”

“Thanks,” Adam says, and it's quiet, barely registered by the other boys as they begin to discuss whether it will end up being Yousef supporting all of them, as he's the one with an actual job lined up after school, or if they'll all just end up starving together. According to the conversation, their prospects aren't looking all that great, but at least if one falls, they all fall together.

Mikael looks back at Adam and nods, smile curving at his lips.

“We’re not going to starve!” Elias says at last, loud enough that some other students look over. “At least, I'm not. I'm taking a gap year and living off my parents.”

Mutta scoffs, and that starts another argument altogether.

They're only first years, so Adam doesn't really see the point of this discussion, but it's better than not thinking about it at all, he supposes. And in the midst of a ridiculous discussion like this, the memory of anyone’s disdain of his passion doesn't even hurt anymore.

That's the best part about having a group of really close friends; they're always there for each other. 

When Mutta gets into another fight with his parents, he spends a week floating between their couches, and they turn each night into a sleepover, watching movies and eating pizza and being far too loud. When Even breaks up with Sonja and spends the three days before they get back together moping about how much they love each other, they listen. Insulting Sonja only makes him worse, so they just suffer through his pining until she texts him back. When Elias’ little sister gets bullied for being Muslim, they briefly swallow their fury and stay over at his house, trying to distract him from the frantic worry that consumes him. When Yousef expresses doubts about Islam, they try to counter them but listen anyway, because his friendship is worth more than religious differences. If it wasn't, Even probably wouldn't be part of their group, anyway.

And when Mikael is hurt, or sad, or anything, really, they gather around him with the ire of so many mamma bears and don't let him out of their sight until the situation is resolved. It's not that they don't care about each other as much as they do Mikael, but there's a sense of protection there. He is the youngest, after all.

And, well, maybe Adam does care about Mikael the most. It's not a deliberate thing, or even a particularly conscious thing, but he's known him for two thirds of his life. He loves all his friends, but he's close with Mikael in a way he can't quite imitate with the others. Mikael and Even are close because of their shared love of film, sure, and Adam spends more time playing video games with Elias than he does anyone else, and they all go to the gym together a few days a week, but he can just  _ be _ with Mikael. They can just sit somewhere, anywhere, talking or not, and Adam will have the best moments in his week. He loves seeing Mikael happy, seeing Mikael in general.

Seeing Mikael sad or angry, by contrast, is not something that Adam ever wants to experience. It's unpleasant every time, the way Mikael bites his lips and casts his eyes to the floor as if it will hide the way they gleam. It fills Adam with this irritated, helpless energy, buzzing at the back of his mouth and his fingertips like it's aching to be released but doesn't know  _ how _ .

It's worst when Mikael is bullied.

All of them have faced bullying at some point in their lives. It's terrible and it's probably scarred them for life, but they're all used to it, mostly. Except, Adam and Elias had done their best to protect Mikael from it in middle school, and he'd rarely faced anything more than a look or a shouted slur. It had helped, then, that he hadn't had a class without Elias or Adam.

Even is home sick, and Mikael is in his Film and TV class alone, and this doesn't even register for Adam until he meets him outside the school at the end of the day.

“Hey,” he calls, and then, when Mikael only nods, lips pressed together and eyes down, “are you alright?”

Mikael nods again. “I just want to go home,” he replies.

Adam frowns. “We’re meant to be visiting Even,” he says. “Mutta and Yousef are going with Elias to get food from his Mamma and we’re meeting them at Even’s, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mikael says, and the subdued quiver to his lip stops as he swallows. “I forgot.”

Adam looks at Mikael for a long moment as they begin walking, studying him, from the downward cast of his eyes to the specific slouch to his shoulders he’s obviously trying to hide. “Did something happen?” he asks.

Mikael pauses, then shakes his head, pushing his long hair out of his face. He still won't look at Adam.

“Mikael,” Adam says.

He shakes his head again. “I'm okay,” he says, and this time he  _ does _ look at Adam, smiling. It's a weak smile, shaky but determined. He's blinking rapidly.

“What happened, Mikael?” Adam asks. “Did someone say something? In Film and TV?”

Mikael’s smile freezes and drops. “Why can't I lie to you?” he asks.

Adam shrugs. “I just know,” he says, and wiggles his eyebrows to see if it will make Mikael smile again—truthfully, this time.

He succeeds, but only briefly. Mikael’s lips curve and then drop again. “Just some assholes after class,” he says. “Usually, Even is there, too, but…”

Adam takes one breath, and then another, curls his fingers into fists in his pockets. “What did they say?” he asks, already thinking about what he’ll tell the boys, jumping  through the steps in his mind to exacting vengeance.

“It was nothing,” Mikael says. “Really.”

Adam scowls, reaching out for Mikael’s hand. Just as their fingers curl together, Mikael snatches his hand away.

“It's  _ nothing _ ,” he says again, and Adam knows for a fact that that's not true, if only by the way he feels everything inside himself reeling and tumbling, his heart ricocheting like his chest is some sort of pinball machine. Mikael has never refused to hold his hand before.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

Mikael nods. “It was just...some stupid stuff about shit like my hair and—I'm not. I'm not what they said I am.”

“Okay,” Adam says, the word scratching at his throat. “What did they say you were?”

“It doesn't matter,” Mikael insists.

“Mikael…”

Mikael’s fists curl, and he turns to Adam, eyes blazing. “They said I was gay!” he says. “They said I'm a-a—” He cuts himself off. “I'm  _ not _ , okay? I'm not like that.” There's a desperation to his voice that sticks, unpleasant, to the back of Adam’s throat.

Adam knows he should be furious— he  _ is _ furious. He can't wait to get to Even’s house to figure out how they're going to exact revenge. Deeper, though, something too much like hurt to sit comfortably echoes. The desperation and anger evident in every inch of Mikael’s being cuts at Adam, sharp.

Is it truly so terrible for a boy to like a boy? To like anyone other than a girl? Adam has liked girls in the past, has dated them, but… there are things that Mikael will never know about Adam, like how his first kiss was a boy. Like the pride parades he’s seen mentions of on tv and ached to attend.

Like—being bi, really.

“Oh,” he says, and Mikael nods, miserable. He should say something else, something about beating them up or getting them back, but the others can take care of that once they get to Even’s. “Can I hug you?” he says instead, and something in that aches too, because he's never had to ask before.

Mikael looks around carefully, then nods. Adam steps toward him and gathers him into his arms.

“I'm  _ not _ ,” Mikael mutters again, curling his fingers into Adam’s shirt. 

Adam nods, swallows past an all-too-painful lump in his throat. “Okay,” he says, and very carefully presses his lips to Mikael’s forehead. When Mikael curls into him further, Adam does it again, dramatic, smacking his lips together loudly.

Mikael laughs wetly, pulls away. “Thanks,” he says.

Adam forces himself to shrug. “No problem,” he replies. “Those assholes are going to regret this.”

Mikael nods, and there's a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You ready to deal with Even with a flu?”

“Ugh,” Adam says, desperately grateful for the change in subject. “This is going to be worse than when he and Sonja broke up.”

“Probably.”

“ _ Probably _ .” Adam presses into Mikael’s shoulder, slings an arm around him. “It's a very good thing we love all our friends, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Mikael answers. “It is.”

They look after each other, no matter what. Adam thinks of Mikael’s words, reminds himself of that. They look after each other.

 

 

_ four _

Graduating is weird, emotionally.

On the one hand, Adam is pretty over the moon about it. Gone are the days of designated lunch times and endless homework and  _ math _ . He doesn't have to worry about teachers or strict school rules.

On the other, he's fucking graduating.

It's not just the uncertainty of the future—he’s applied for a good five art schools and is still waiting for results—or the fact that their group is leaving school with an odd, painful gap. It's just—weird, in a messy, indefinable way. The end of an era, maybe.

“It’s the final scene,” Mikael says when Adam expresses this to him, because he’s a massive nerd. “Or maybe the first. I’m not sure yet.”

Adam nods, because that seems about right. He’s ending and beginning something at the same time, and it feels too strange to properly put into words. “Maybe it’s just somewhere in the middle,” he suggests, and we’re making a big deal over nothing.”

Mikael laughs, and Adam wishes suddenly that he had a way to interpret that sound visually, to put it down on paper and study it for the rest of his life. “Yeah, maybe,” Mikael says. “That’s so boring, though.”

“Your face is boring,” Adam counters reflexively.

“Rude!”

And then Mikael’s parents are asking for pictures, and Elias is gathering Mutta and Yousef to them for group photos, and Adam smiles at the camera, thinks back to the end of last year. They had taken a group photo then, too, Mutta claiming that they would see the glow up at graduation. And it’s true that they’re a little less scrawny, a little taller, a little more mature. Glow up.

But does it count if they’re missing a member? If he’s not at graduation and hasn’t been on the roll for months and won’t return their calls? Adam is pretty sure it doesn’t, but he’s sure as fuck not going to be the one to bring it up. Not with everyone enjoying themselves. Not with Mikael smiling up at the bright blue sky, squinting at the clouds like they’ll tell him his future.

Adam hopes, absently, that someone will get a picture of Mikael in that  moment, that he’ll be able to remember it later when he has access to his tablet or sketchbook. Mikael has been one of the easiest people for Adam to draw lately, so much so that he’s pretty sure a good portion of his portfolio is just Mikael in different settings, lips curled up into bright smiles that Adam had spent hours getting right. In every picture he’s drawn, Mikael is smiling.

At least that’s something he’s certain about his future: he wants to see Mikael smiling. That’s been constant since he was six, though, in some form or another. Mikael tends to be a happy person, though, so that’s at least an achievable goal.

With that,  graduation somehow...passes. Like any other day, really, except with a little more pomp and ceremony and proof of all hard work Adam has poured into his schooling. There are pictures, and Adam doesn’t shed a single tear but he’s pretty sure Mutta does, and with that they are no longer high school students, ejected into the world with few marketable skills and a reliance on their parents.

Adam is so fucking glad for university.

It’s not until later, after the celebrations have died down a little, that Adam notices that Mikael has disappeared. They’d all ended up at one of the multiple parties being held by the other graduates, dancing to top hits and avoiding the alcohol that’s being passed around. Adam is pretty sure Elias is taking longer looks at said alcohol than it warrants, but he notices that at about the time he realises he hasn’t seen Mikael for a while, and. Well.

Adam passes through the house filled with drunk teenagers, avoiding dancers screaming lyrics and couples making out like it’s the last time they’ll ever touch. Maybe it is, given the reason they’re celebrating. Who knows whether they’ll still even remember each other in a year’s time? Who knows whether they’ll remember each other in a week? Couples and friend groups split easily after graduation and everyone knows it.

“Hey, have you seen Mikael?” he asks those who can hear him, and he follows their vague directions in circles. He’s not in the kitchen, or the bathrooms, or anywhere upstairs. He wouldn’t be, anyway, not without letting one of them know.

Eventually, he finds himself outside, the air refreshingly cool in his lungs.  The guy that had directed him out was about as drunk as anyone could be and about to get drunker, if the cup in his hand was any indication, but, judging by the figure sitting on the grass, he was also the most accurate.

“Hey,” Adam calls, watching Mikael’s shoulders tense and then relax in the low light.

“Hey,” Mikael replies, looking up briefly before turning back to his knees.

Adam checks the grass gingerly before he sits. “You cool?” he asks, as casual as he can possibly cause his voice to be.

Mikael shrugs. “We’ve graduated,” he says.

“Yeah,” Adam answers. “We have.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Mikael says, and Adam considers saying something like  _ wow, careful with that _ , but doesn’t, “about what we were talking about earlier, if this was a beginning or a final scene or just something in the middle.”

Adam nods, waiting.

Mikael looks up once more, then down again. “If it’s the final scene, does that make me the villain?”

“What?” Adam asks, instantly frowning. “How could you—of course you’re not.”

“It’s my fault, though,” Mikael says, throwing his hands out. By reflex, Adam catches the one closest to him, draws it into his own lap. This time when Mikael looks up, he stares straight into Adam’s eyes and doesn’t look away.

“What’s your fault?” Adam asks, though his mouth is drying, breath thick in his throat.

Mikael just looks at him for a long moment. “You know what,” he says. “Even. What else? What the fuck else have I fucked up this year?”

Adam swallows, breaks his gaze to look at Mikael’s hand in his.

Mikael’s fingers tighten. “They keep on saying— you hear them. And I’m… it’s my fault. I said those things, and I pushed him away, and…”

“I won’t say it was right or good,” Adam says, when Mikael doesn’t continue his sentence, “what you did. You should have handled it better.” He turns Mikael’s hand over in his hands, runs his thumb over his palm. 

“I know,” Mikael says. “I know. I shouldn’t have…”

“You shouldn’t have,” Adam agrees. He looks up, meets Mikael’s eyes. “You’re allowed to have your own feelings, but it wasn’t fair to treat Even like that, you’re right.” He presses his fingers harder into Mikael’s hand for a moment. “That doesn’t mean— it doesn’t mean whatever might have happened is your fault. That doesn’t make you the villain.”

Mikael takes a deep breath that seems to shudder its way in. He blinks, swallows, takes another breath. “He should have been here with us,” he says, and his voice is strained.

“I know,” Adam answers. “We can’t force him to, though. We don’t even know…”

“Yeah.” Mikael blinks again. “If I’m not a villain, then I’m an idiot.”

Adam frowns. That might be true, and on any other day, he’d agree. On any other day, that might bring a smile to Mikael’s face. “Why?” he asks instead.

“I was so scared, then,” Mikael answers, and this time he is most certainly not looking at Adam, gaze fixed somewhere to his left. “I was scared.”

“Why?” he asks again. It feels like all he can say, now:  _ why is it so terrible for people to think you like boys, why are you drawing away from me, why does it make my heart ache to see you hurt, why, why, why _ .

“Because,” Mikael says, and pauses. “Because.”

Adam looks at him and waits.

“It felt like he was taking everything inside of me,” Mikael says, at last. “Like he was tearing it out and putting it on the outside for all of the world to see. Like there was nothing I could hide.”

Adam stays silent for one beat, and then two. Then: “What were you hiding?”

“That I wanted him to.”

Adam sits with that for a moment, looks past the way his heart surges to Mikael. “To kiss you?” he asks.

Mikael nods, swallows. “That’s why,” he says. “Why I’m an idiot, why I’m a hypocrite, why I’m  _ so fucking terrified _ .”

“Oh,” Adam says, and when he looks down Mikael’s hands are shaking, the one he’s not holding digging grooves into his pants. He grabs hold of that one, too.

“Adam,” Mikael says. “Adam, I’m a terrible person. Even tried to— we lost Even because of  _ me.  _ Because I was  _ scared _ . If he had— I would have killed him, if it had worked. It would have been my fault.”

“No,” Adam protests, so fast it might as well be automatic. It’s not though; that implies a lack of sincerity, implies that it’s no more than a rote reaction born of years of defending Mikael. This is more than that. This is every part of Adam filled with feeling, with the knowledge that nothing like that could ever be Mikael’s fault. Whatever he had done, whatever residual anger Adam is still feeling, that is not a burden that should ever fall on Mikael’s shoulders.

“See?” Mikael insists. “I’m the villain. I’m—”

“You’re  _ not _ ,” Adam says, and curls his fingers around Mikael’s hands so tight he shakes too. “You’re not, Mikael, I swear.” He’s never been a knight in shining armour, but in no universe could he be a villain. In any other situation, Adam might joke about him being a damsel in distress, but that’s not true either. He’s helped Adam and needed helping, comforted him even as he made mistakes, even as he hurt. He’s not any of those roles, nothing quite so clean cut. “You’re Mikael,” he says. “That’s all. You’re Mikael. You’re my best friend.”

Mikael’s whole body trembles as a tear snakes down his cheek. Adam wants to kiss it off and knows he shouldn’t.

“You’re mine, too,” Mikael says, sniffling. Another tear follows the first. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Adam says, and, before he can stop himself, he pulls Mikael’s right hand to his face and turns it, pressing his mouth into the lines of his palm. Mikael doesn’t pull away, and Adam lets his lips linger, meets his eyes. “You’re you,” he says into his skin. “You’re  _ you _ .”

Mikael nods, still crying. “Thank you,” he says again, and when he pulls his hand back, his fingers trail against Adam’s cheek. He sniffs, then clears his throat, averting his eyes. “We should probably get back inside.”

“Yeah,” Adam replies. He doesn’t move, and neither does Mikael, and that’s where they stay, together, knees pressed close.

It’s not the worst night Adam could have had.

 

 

_ five _

Adam is pretty sure that he’s going to flunk out of art school.

It’s not that his grades are  _ bad _ , exactly, or that his tutors are more difficult to deal with than they should be. It’s just a lot, all at once. He spends more hours creating than he ever has— pieces and essays on pieces that pile into the night, until he’s relying on caffeine far more than he ever thought he’d allow himself to. At least fifty percent of his classmates are more talented than he’ll ever be, and that’s on his good days. He’s pretty sure one of his professors actually hates him— as in, full-on, fiery, is likely to burn his literal face off hatred. He hasn’t failed anything in her class yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

He’s talked to the boys about it, in bits and pieces. Mutta relates to the workload and fear of professors with a weary sort of empathy that speaks volumes of the difficulty of a degree in mathematics. Elias slaps his back and laughs at him a little for deciding against a gap year. Adam can’t even bring himself to be angry; a gap year would have been an amazing idea, in hindsight. Yousef is sympathetic, in that way in which Yousef is sympathetic to everything and everyone and sincere with every part of it. Mikael… well, Adam hasn’t told quite as much to Mikael.

He talks about the hateful professor, of course, because that’s just plain terrifying to him as a student, and about the hours of drawing and painting, but he brushes very carefully over the quality of his own art, because then Mikael would want to see it, and...well, that’s not a good idea. In fact, it’s a rather terrible idea.

The reason for it is ridiculous, of course. It’s not even a big deal, not really. He wouldn’t have even noticed if his advisor hadn’t pointed it out to him.

“Look,” he’d said, rubbing at a point between his eyebrows. “You’re a very talented artist. I truly think you can go far in life. Just— diversify your art a bit. At least sixty percent of your pieces that focus on people just are one person in particular.”

“That’s—” Adam had started to say, but his advisor had put his last assignment on the table, and, yes, that was definitely all Mikael. “It can’t be that much,” he’d finished.

His advisor, rather than saying anything or take out another assignment, had simply raised his eyebrows.

“I like drawing him,” Adam had defended.

“Fair,” his advisor had said. “I won’t judge your choice of subject. All I ask is that you find other people to draw, and perhaps— if you have the time, sort out whatever you have with this boy.”

_ Have? _ Adam wanted to ask.  _ What do I have with Mikael? _ He had never asked, though, and his advisor had never elaborated.

It’s not that he doesn’t understand what he meant, of course. He can even see how his advisor got that impression. A lot of the art that makes it into his assignments is of Mikael, even though that’s just because Mikael is the one who spends the most time over at his house, and because he has the most practice drawing him. He’s had some pride-centric art, too, so it’s relatively simple to jump from liking boys to liking this one boy in particular. He  _ understands _ . It’s just a little ridiculous, and something he would consider sharing with Mikael to laugh with him over if it wasn’t for a terrible clutching feeling at the back of his mind that seems to just protest and flail around vehemently.

So, no, Adam does not share all  of these concerns with Mikael, nor does he share a good portion of his art. He’s pretty sure Mikael has no idea, though, so it’s alright.

“You’re an idiot,” Elias says, most times Adam goes to him for advice on the subject, which is precisely the reason everyone goes to Mutta for this sort of thing. Mutta is in the middle of exams, though, and that’s not something Adam is going to interrupt with issues like this. Elias is the second best person to go to, by virtue of having experience as a big brother. Yousef and Mikael are probably the worst, as the former is a hot mess disguised in smooth lines and floppy hair and the latter switches between the extremes of too hotheaded to rein in and desperate to preserve the feelings of his best friends. Adam considers himself somewhere around the middle, not the best but not abysmal either.

“That’s rude,” Adam replies, though it’s probably true.

Elias shrugs and raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t come to me for comfort,” he says. “You came to me for realism. If you wanted reassurances that everything in your romantic life was perfectly fine and normal, you’d go to Yousef.”

Adam sputters, sits up further on the couch he’d been lounging on. “Romantic life?” he repeats. “What romantic life?”

“You just insulted  _ yourself _ ,” Elias points out. “Obviously, the whole thing you have with Mikael.”

“Um,” Adam says. “No, there’s definitely not a thing with Mikael. That’s the point.”

“Sure, okay,” Elias replies, which was not the response Adam was looking for.

“I came to you for  _ advice _ ,” Adam says. “Not whatever this is.”

“Okay,” Elias says. “Easy. Sort out your fucking feelings, then talk to him.”

“I don’t have—” he sputters— “ _ feelings _ . Except for the fact that he’s my best friend.”

“So you don’t feel anything different about him than you do with the rest of us?” Elias asks. “At all?”

Adam frowns. “I feel different about all of you, though,” he says. “You’re all my best friends in different ways. I’ve been friends with Mikael ever since we were kids.”

Elias sighs. “So you’re totally comfortable in your relationship with him?” he asks. “Never wanted to change a thing?”

“What would I even change?” Adam adjusts on the couch, considers getting up to get a glass of water.

“You’ve never, once in your life, wanted to kiss him?” Elias asks. “To—”

“Okay,” Adam says. “I get it.”

“Well?” Elias asks. “Have you?”

_ No! _ Adam wants to reply.  _ Of course not _ . That would be a lie, though, and Adam has never been the best at lying. “I,” he starts. “Sometimes.”

Elias spreads his arms, as if to say,  _ well? _

“Doesn’t everyone, though?” Adam asks, just a little desperate.

“What, think about making out with their best friends?” He chuckles. “Well, unless there’s something you’re not telling me, I’m pretty sure Mikael is the only one of us you’re gone for.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Unless you mean ‘doesn’t everyone want to make out with Mikael’?” he continues, gleeful. “The answer to that is no, actually.”

This is precisely why Adam should have said  _ fuck it _ and gone to Mutta. Yousef, even. Elias’ blunt advice may objectively be good, but damn, this is more than Adam can think about right now.

“I need some time with this,” he says. “I’m not—gone for Mikael, or whatever, but I need to—”

The teasing glint in Elias’ eyes melts into something deeper. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “You want to watch a movie?”

Adam nods, even though he totally hasn’t done his sketch for the day and will hate himself for it when he gets home. “You can pick,” he says, and distracts himself for the next two hours with Elias’ terrible taste in media.

The question raises itself, of course, over the next few days and weeks, but Adam can ignore it with enough effort. It’s only really difficult when he’s around Mikael. Admittedly, this is most days, but that’s okay. Adam is fully in control of himself and his thoughts and the strange impulse to brush his fingers over Mikael’s lips and follow them with the press of his own. It wasn’t even an actual conscious issue until Elias had brought it up.

“Try making your intent for the future clear?” Yousef suggests when Adam goes to him, which wasn’t even close to the advice Adam had been asking for.

“Just see how things develop,” is the wisdom that Mutta gives, having emerged from his midterms victorious and at least somewhat alive. “You never know what’s there until you look for it.” Adam has no idea what that’s supposed to  _ mean _ , let alone how it  applies to his life, and he mentally shifts the advice-ranking he’d previously held.

None of the boys are particularly helpful, but he’s not about to turn to his parents for maybe-relationship problems, especially not with Mikael. They’ll start planning a wedding before Adam even figures out what he wants.

He’s essentially flying blind, but that’s okay. He’s been best friends with Mikael for more than half his life;  he didn’t need advice for every little thing along the way. They figured it out together, just the two of them.

It culminates, of course, like that, the two of them alone in his room, Mikael spinning in his desk chair while he spreads out on his bed and draws. It’s not Mikael, at least; this is a landscape, assigned by the professor that’s just as likely to murder him as to pass him, and he actually despises it with every fibre of his being. He prefers the portraits, prefers to capture the particular tilt of their eyebrows and the way their eyes reflect their smiles.

“I’m done,” Adam says, though he’s not, and closes the sketchbook before gingerly tossing it to the floor. “I physically cannot look at that page or that photo a moment longer.”

“Take a break,” Mikael suggests. “You want a drink?”

Adam presses his face into his blanket and waves vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. Mikael’s been coming over since he was six; he doesn’t have to put up the pretense of the gracious host. He hears footsteps leave the room, doesn’t move until he hears them return.

“Here,” Mikael says as he sits up, handing him a glass and sitting beside him. “You only had apple juice in your fridge.”

“Apple juice is good.” He takes a long sip, carefully doesn’t watch Mikael doing the same. No, that’s a lie— he watches, but only out of the corner of his eye, cautious and captivated.

“Do you remember,” asks Mikael, licking a drop of juice off his top lip, “that time when we were ten and we decided to eat nothing but apples?”

“Yes,” Adam says, and leans over.

He doesn’t mean to kiss Mikael, except that he does, pressing their lips softly together, the taste of apple juice on the back of his tongue. He feels Mikael’s breath stutter,  then even. Adam closes his eyes, breathes in nothing but his best friend.

After just a moment, Adam pulls away, looks at Mikael. He’s stunned, blinking, lips hanging just slightly open. He stands, only noticing as he backs away from the bed that Mikael had been touching his arm. His loose grip falls away and trails against Adam’s hand.

“Um,” Adam says. “I’m—shit.”

He leaves, and Mikael watches him go, and makes no move to stop him.

 

 

_ \+ one _

It’s late evening by the time Adam makes it back to his house. It was only afternoon when he’d left, but he’d occupied himself. It wasn’t until the day started drawing into evening that he’d had to turn to sullenly wandering the streets.

He’s pretty sure Mikael is gone now, though. There’s no point in staying around for too long, not for hours. Adam half considers texting his parents to check, but they’d ask too many questions he has no way of answering right this moment. He’ll just have to wait until Mikael is sure to have left.

Walking out of his own house was probably not Adam’s best decision today. Then again, it wasn’t his worst, either. He’s made a lot more bad decisions than he’d like.

Adam arrives back at his house just as his watch ticks over to ten fifteen, and all the lights are dark. He toes his shoes off and slips his jacket onto the rack, moving as slowly and quietly as he can. When he causes no major cacophony, he heads toward his bedroom, relying on the memory of his entire life in this house to guide him through the dark rooms.

He finally makes it into his own room, closes the door quietly before flicking on his light. He looks around the room, blinks at the bed. Lying on it, half sprawled, as though he had been sitting and collapsed upon falling asleep, is Mikael.

Well, shit. Apparently, he’d underestimated the dedication of  his best friend. Adam turns the light back off before it disturbs him, and Mikael doesn’t stir.

Cautiously, going off just the moonlight coming in the window, Adam walks over to the bed. Mikael isn’t even lying under a blanket, which is going to be horrifying in the morning. He carefully tucks the comforter over his sleeping form, suddenly thankful that he’d neglected to make his bed that morning. Attempting to get the blanket out from under Mikael without waking him would have been a task and a half, and Adam is far too tired for that.

Briefly, the thought of waking Mikael up enters Adam’s mind. He should head back to his own house. He should make sure his parents aren’t worrying, process things in his own space.

Of course, Mikael’s parents are just as likely to assume that Mikael stayed over at Adam’s and forgot to let them know as to worry, and if Mikael is still here, after hours upon hours of waiting— well, Adam isn’t quite sure what he could process in his home that he couldn’t in the time he had at Adam’s. He looks so peaceful, too, like everything Adam itches to draw when Mikael is in his proximity and when he’s not.

Another option is for Adam to find the spare blankets and escape to the couch, but that would raise a fuckton more questions than anything else. He isn’t sure he’s ever slept elsewhere when Mikael has stayed over; his parents would be out of their minds with questions.

He’s never slept in the same bed as Mikael after kissing him and running away, though. That’s not quite an experience he’s had with anyone. It’s not an experience he’d ever imagined he’d have.

Still, he’s spent countless nights at Mikael’s side, and if he’s still here, still waiting, it’s at least likely that he won’t wake up just to tell Adam their friendship is over. Hopefully.

Adam changes into his pyjamas, brushing his teeth, and slips into the bed, keeping to his own side. He closes his eyes and listens to Mikael’s soft, even breaths, and, slowly but surely, they lull him to sleep.

When he wakes, he wakes to Mikael’s face, and Mikael’s eyes, staring at him.

Mikael blinks.

“Hi,” Adam says, voice croaky with sleep. He swallows, blinks, wonders if he should draw away. In his sleep, he’d gravitated toward Mikael, and they’re lying with their knees touching, hands brushing, faces centimetres apart. Adam can smell Mikael’s morning breath.

“Hi,” Mikael says, and kisses him.

The first sensation that Adam registers is the terrible taste that accompanies morning breath, but overpowering that is the fact that Mikael is kissing him, that Mikael’s mouth is on his mouth and hands are on his hands and nose is brushing his nose.

Adam breathes deep, kisses him back. He moves his hand up to Mikael’s cheek, brushes strands of hair back behind his ear. Something bubbles up in his chest, something that feels like euphoria, like a contact high.

“Hi,” he says again, when Mikael pulls away.

Mikael smiles, broad and beautiful. “Good morning.”

“You don’t hate me?” Adam asks, because he has to, because it’s been weighing down on his mind since last night. “I kissed you.”

Mikael frowns. “I wouldn’t hate you for that,” he says. “Even if I didn’t— even if I didn’t like you like this, I wouldn’t hate you.”

Adam knows this, has known this, but it’s more of a relief to hear it than he’d ever admit. “Okay,” he says, then, “Wow, you  _ like _ me. What a nerd.”

Snorting, Mikael shifts forward, burying his face in Adam’s chest. “Shut the fuck up,” he says. Adam curls his arms around Mikael, buries one of his hands in his hair and feels his best friend relax into him. His boyfriend, maybe.

It’s not a day that Adam needs to be up early for class, so he feels comfortable closing his eyes again, letting himself drift off into the hazy in-between of sleep and not. Sunlight is sifting in through the window, warm and tender, and Mikael in Adam’s arms is as familiar a weight as it ever was.

This is them, Adam thinks as he drifts into sleep, in everything that they can be: happy; together; calm and warm in the early morning daylight. He’ll paint this later, when he’s more awake, paint it in soft yellow tones, peaceful and sleepy. His advisor might have a conniption about yet another depiction of Mikael, but Adam can’t bring himself to care. He can already see the paints he’ll use, the soft watercolour bleed of the colours.

Mikael nuzzles into Adam’s chest, and Adam breathes deep, contentment filling his lungs like oxygen. He sleeps, and the air tastes like home.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to note that Mikael is, at this point, beginning to question things such as gender and what such a concept even means. They haven't told anyone yet, but they're testing out their comfort with they/them pronouns, because nb Mikael is the best headcanon and also the truest. This may become another fic at some point.
> 
> Come chat to me about these lovely kids on [tumblr](https://boxesfullofsanasmiling.tumblr.com)!


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